


Moonage Daydream

by cattajonze



Category: The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Roleplay, typical Jolenz fluff, with sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattajonze/pseuds/cattajonze
Summary: Micky is feeling creative after being kidnapped by aliens in "Monkees Watch Their Feet."(This could be a sequel to "Absolute Beginners." Or not! Whatever you like :))
Relationships: Micky Dolenz/Davy Jones
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Moonage Daydream

Davy awoke with a hand pressed against his mouth.

“Don’t make any noise, Earthling,” a voice whispered, so close that he could feel the warm breath against his cheek.

“Mmph,” Davy protested against the hand, pushing himself upright in bed and finding another body already seated next to him. He felt the familiar weight of Micky’s arm drape gently around his shoulders.

“Shh, you’ll wake Peter up,” Micky whispered again, removing his hand.

“What the hell?” Davy hissed back, blinking groggily into the darkness.

Micky bent closer, his nose brushing Davy’s temple, and breathed into Davy’s ear. “I’m abducting you.”

***

Hours earlier, when they’d finally staggered in from the beach, Davy, Micky, and Peter were breathless and exhausted. Davy and Peter had clung to Micky’s arms the entire walk home, dragging him toward the Pad as Micky repeatedly looked back, hoping to watch the space ship take off.

They hadn’t discussed it, but it was on all of their minds: How were they going to tell Mike, who was visiting family in Texas, that Micky had been abducted by aliens and replaced with a robot? And how would they explain why it had taken Davy and Peter hours to realize the swap had occurred? Davy could already hear Mike’s reproof, his listing of the many horrible things that could have happened to Micky while Peter and Davy sat around waiting for him to stop being weird.

_But to be fair,_ Davy rationalized to the imaginary Mike in his mind. _Micky is always doing something weird._ Imaginary Mike folded his arms across his chest and sighed with resignation because Davy was right: When Micky got himself immersed a bit, it was nearly impossible to make him drop it.

Micky had once spent an entire day pretending to be a dog to protest Mike’s inclusion of “I’m Gonna Buy Me a Dog” on the setlist for a child’s birthday party. He had walked around with an increasingly dramatic and increasingly inconsistent limp for three days after faking a fall from a broken stair on their porch to scare Babbitt into fixing it, refusing to go upstairs to his own bedroom even when Babbit wasn’t around. On numerous occasions, he had pretended to be a telephone operator while Davy kissed him, despite Davy’s repeated requests that he stop. The alien robot act wouldn’t have been the strangest thing he’d done that _week_.

“I can’t believe you found me,” Micky finally piped up after the three of them had collectively collapsed onto the couch. There was a nervous edge in his voice; he was on the verge of near-hysterical laughter. “I really thought I was a goner.”

Davy was still gripping Micky’s arm as though Micky needed a physical tether to the Earth. Micky gently squeezed Davy’s arm where it was threaded through his own, reassuring Davy with enough subtlety that Peter, still flung listlessly over one arm over the couch, wouldn’t notice.

Most of the time, it made sense to keep their relationship from Peter and Mike. It created physical and emotional boundaries that would otherwise be impossible to maintain while living in the same tiny beach house together. And running around in secret (creative flirting during rehearsal, finding excuses to slip away together, fooling around in the coat closet) kept things interesting for both of them. Besides, he and Micky continued to date girls (“Why not?” Micky had said. “There are so many of them around”), which made the entire premise of their relationship even more difficult to explain. 

But right now, with his brain flooded with both residual panic and relief, Davy felt like he was drowning. It was all he could do not to throw himself at Micky and worry about what he’d say to Peter later.

“How did you figure out that robot wasn’t me?” Micky asked. 

“His feet were on backward!” Peter exclaimed. “And… he tried to blow us up.”

“He also got fresh with the refrigerator,” Davy added, hoping he sounded more casual than he felt. He let one corner of his mouth twist upward as he caught Micky’s eyes, happy to see their familiar warmth instead of the robot’s violent indifference. 

“I wish we had more time to get to know him,” Micky sighed. “He seemed like a pretty cool guy.”

“He tried to kill us,” Davy reminded him.

“Still,” Micky said, looking glum.

***

Now, Micky steered Davy across the darkened living room. He had one arm wrapped firmly around Davy’s waist, the hand on Davy’s hip, pinning Davy against his own body. His other hand formed the shape of a gun, the index finger pressed into Davy’s temple. Barefoot, they made almost no noise as they made their way toward the spiral staircase.

“Don’t try anything funny, Earthling,” Micky said as they climbed the stairs, adopting the monotone of his robot double. “Or I’ll have to use my ray gun on you.”

As they reached the top of the stairs, Davy struggled a little to encourage Micky to tighten his grip. In retaliation, Micky carried him the remaining few steps into the bedroom and threw him roughly onto Mike’s empty bed. He climbed over Davy, pinning Davy’s arms at his sides. 

“I _told_ you not to try anything funny,” he said, the monotone faltering as Micky’s gangster impression crept its way in. Davy felt a surge of exhilaration rise in his chest. He fought to keep from laughing and spoiling the scene Micky was creating. 

Light from a streetlamp entered obliquely through the only window in Micky and Mike’s room, casting an almost lunar glow on Mike’s white pillowcases. Micky’s features were illuminated softly against the dark as he stared into Davy’s eyes, intense concentration and excitement giving his face a familiar crazed expression, one Davy found severely adorable.

“What are you going to do to me?” Davy asked tentatively. “And, uh, don’t you think we should move to your bed?”

“An examination,” Micky replied, a smile slipping across his face. “And no, aliens do what they want.”

Davy shifted in the bed, testing Micky’s grip on his arms. Micky’s nostrils flared in response, and he dug his fingers into Davy’s upper arms. 

“You leave me no other choice but to paralyze you with this ultra-magnetic neuro-beam,” he said, pressing his thumb firmly against the bridge of Davy’s nose and gazing down into Davy’s face with a strange intensity of imagination that only Micky could emanate. “Now you’ll have no choice but to surrender to my… observations.”

Davy let himself go limp, submitting to Micky’s narrative. He stared at the ceiling, wondering what Micky had in mind as he felt Micky unbutton his pajamas, sliding one enervated arm then the next out of their sleeves. Goosebumps crept up Davy’s arms at the sudden exposure to the night air.

Micky spoke into his thumb. “Now I will take my measurements.”

Moving slowly, he put his lips to Davy’s clavicle. He worked his way up Davy’s neck, murmuring unintelligible observations as he did.

“How are you taking measurements?” Davy whispered as Micky’s nose, eyelashes, lips, and end-of-day stubble brushed against his skin.

“My robot mouth functions as a calipers,” Micky breathed into Davy’s ear. He threaded his fingers through Davy’s bangs and and gently tilted his head backwards, letting his lips hover an inch above Davy’s lips. “Shh, you’re paralyzed, remember?”

Micky let his lips touch Davy’s lightly at first, purposefully teasing him. Davy felt obliged to play along and lay still, frustration building up as he waited for the intensity of kissing to increase. As it did, he could only think about Micky’s mouth— its shape, its firmness, and its vague taste of testosterone— as Micky pressed his face against his own.

Micky kissed with rhythm, as though his body was a conduit for whatever song he had running through his head at the moment. Davy always attempted to listen to whatever message Micky’s movements might convey: rhythmic changes in the pressure of his lips, the flex of his fingers as they moved through Davy’s hair, shifts in the position of his hips and torso. Davy would lose himself in the listening, at least until he invariably lost focus, distracted by Micky giggling about some funny idea that popped into his mind, or a noise that signaled Mike and Peter were home, or, usually, an erection. 

Micky pulled away from the kiss and began working his way lower. As he pressed his tongue into the depression where Davy’s collarbones met, Davy tugged off his t-shirt, surprised by a strange pattern that gleamed on Micky’s chest in the dim light. It took Davy a few seconds to realize that Micky had glued metal washers to his chest. Davy pictured Micky sitting on his own bed earlier that night, quietly applying washers to his chest as he waited to initiate this ‘abduction.’ He felt an overwhelming surge of affection for Micky and the planning that went into creating this moment for the two of them, however bizarre it was. 

Mucky continued lower, rubbing his thumb over the appendix scar near Davy’s bellybutton, then grabbing the sides of Davy’s hips, sliding his pajamas down. 

“It appears that one part of the Earthling is immune to my ultra-magnetic paralysis technique,” Micky said, using his feet to kick Davy’s pajamas to the floor. “It requires further exploration. Calipers, do your thing.”

There was Micky’s mouth again, moving up and down the shaft of Davy’s erect penis, his tongue flicking the sensitive spot under the head each time it completed a cycle.

“Oh fuck,” Davy moaned, forgetting to pretend he was paralyzed. He clutched at Micky’s hair as Micky cradled his testicles in one hand. The movement of Micky’s mouth on Davy’s erection gradually increased in speed, then abruptly slowed, making Davy groan in frustration. 

“Are you gonna cum?” Micky said, glancing upward. 

“I’m gonna cum…” Davy mumbled, the words coming with great effort. He felt his body wracked with uncontrollable pleasure, squeezing his eyes shut as his pelvis muscles contracted, as he ejaculated.

Micky wiped his mouth and laid down beside Davy in the slim bed, grinning as he watched Davy regain composure. “Pretty good for a space robot, right?” he asked.

“You’re… amazing,” Davy said, feeling the usual flood of compliments forming at the tip of his tongue, a compulsive, exhausting listing of things he loved about a person. “Just unbelievably—”

“You’re cute,” Micky interrupted, kissing him. It was a relief. 

***

Davy woke the next morning with a start, surprised to find himself in Mike’s bed, his legs tangled with Micky’s. Beside him, Micky was still asleep, snoring quietly, his face buried in Mike’s pillow. Davy watched him sleep for a few minutes, appreciating the way their bodies fit together in the twin bed, the dead weight of Micky’s arm flung across his waist, and the steady rise and fall of Micky’s back as he breathed.

Finally, Davy reached over and smoothed a particularly wild patch of curls on the back of Micky’s head. Micky stirred, mumbling unintelligibly into the pillow for a moment before lifting his head. 

“Oh, hey,” Micky croaked, slowly pushing himself onto his forearms. His eyes were puffy from sleep. He rubbed them, then squinted at the bright light coming in through the window. “Did you sleep here all night?”

“Yeah,” Davy replied, peeling one of the metal washers off of Micky’s chest and holding it up so he could see. “ _This_ was a bit over the top.”

“Don’t question my method if it’s working,” Micky said. He rolled on his side so that he and Davy were eye-to-eye, their heads level on the pillow. “It’s working, right?”

Davy smiled, nodding. 

“How are you going to explain to Peter why you slept up here?”

Davy shrugged. “He might already know,” he said truthfully.

Micky raised his eyebrows. “Really? And you’re okay with that?”

Davy shrugged again. “Maybe,” he said, sliding his hand into Micky’s boxers. “Are you?”

“Yeah, but try to convince me anyway,” Micky said happily.

***

Mike returned that late that night, after Peter and Davy had already settled into their bedtime routines. Micky was still watching television in the living room, and through their closed bedroom door, Peter and Davy could hear the two of them chat about Mike’s trip, the cousins he hadn’t seen in years, and running into a high school sweetheart. 

“I’m glad Mike’s back,” Peter said, putting his book under his pillow. 

“Me too,” Davy said.

“And I’m glad Micky’s home safe,” Peter added.

“Me too,” Davy agreed. He watched Peter’s face for signs of meddling, but Peter just sipped from the glass of water he kept on the nightstand and fluffed his pillow. If he suspected anything, he wasn’t going to pry. He’d wait for Davy to tell him. It was one of the qualities Davy liked best about Peter. 

Peter reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. They listened to Mike climb the stairs, which creaked softly with every step. 

“MICKY,” came Mike’s roar from the upstairs bedroom. “For the love of— what happened in here? What is all this metal doing in my bed?”

Davy grinned, grateful for the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the David Bowie song :)


End file.
